twisted love

but often with a rhythm
her heart is a chamber –
of secrets lying hidden

mother! mother!
lovingly, they called her
oh! kindest heart of all,
whispers breezed around her

but, deep in her bosom
cuddled a green monster
fed by her envy, and
nourished by her anger

spewing pure evil,
across her worn veins
simmering, wasting,
tethered to disdain

a little afraid, a lot twisted
she glanced at the mirror
her conscience descended –
in a deviant gossamer

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